


Paper Wings

by HydraNoMago



Series: Manor House [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Actual episode dialogue, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Awkward Romance, Cute, Dorks in Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Ghost Hunters, Light Angst, Literary References & Allusions, Loneliness, M/M, Mortality, Puppet History, Shyan Forever, Slow Burn, The Professor - Freeform, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HydraNoMago/pseuds/HydraNoMago
Summary: “And please don’t call me Master Bergara, it’s so formal it makes me want to regurgitate whatever is left in my stomach.” With another easy smile, and his voice lowered, “Call me Ryan.”Shane grinned back at him and clasped his hand, his heart missing a beat at the contact. “Shane,” he replied, and gave their joined hands a firm shake. “Shane Madej.”Shane is a tutor in the Bergara household, who thinks he has found his place in the world; until he meets one Ryan Bergara.
Relationships: Andrew Ilnyckyj/Steven Lim, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: Manor House [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741003
Comments: 27
Kudos: 193





	Paper Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my good friend with a name of royalty. Happy early birthday and thank you for your gift! 
> 
> Welcome to Unsolved hell; once you’re in, there’s no getting out.  
> Shane is our chaos king, #shyanforever

Its blue wings were a vibrant splash of colour, nestled amongst other knick-knacks in the shop. Encased in glass, was the well-preserved form of the rarest butterfly he had ever seen; the Palos Verdes Blue was a breath of much needed air into his lungs. Wiping his stuffy nose on the sleeve of his rented coat, he tried to stop the tears falling simply by willing it. His worn reflection in the butterfly’s glass was unbecoming; the creature’s beauty should not have to be sullied by his sorrow. Lightly, he pressed his dry fingers to the cool of the glass, admiring the thin, paper-like wings; and how ephemerality is a disease which kills all, but can be stopped if someone loved you enough to keep your memory alive.

* * *

After he returned the rented jacket, Shane had shuffled around in the barren rooms of the house all day before snapping open his desk drawer with slightly too much force. His parents were dead. Those countless years he had spent at home looking after them while his older brother Scott sent money from abroad had now fizzled into the vastness of the universe, leaving nothing but his own tired form behind. He held no grudge against his parents or Scott; knew that the arrangement was the most amicable way of living their lives. He missed them terribly.

Pressing both hands against his eyes and gritting his teeth, he told himself not to dissolve into a pool of sobs again; he had already cried up a storm during the funeral and could scarcely remember who even attended to pay their respects. Rifling through his drawer cluttered with sheafs upon sheafs of paper, he cursed lowly at his lack of organisation. _Where is it, I know I put it in here somewhere._ Frustrated, he pulled the drawer out completely and shook its contents into the air, watching the yellowed edges of parchment flit like a flock of startled birds onto the rotting wooden floor. He landed on his knees with a loud thump, and ran is hands through the mess, sweat staining his forehead as he searched for an advert he saw months ago. He had never had the chance to utilise his skills, but maybe…

With a gargled shout of mixed triumph and relief, he spied the edge of the newspaper cutting and snatched it from the folds of some aborted essay; pinching it in both hands. He would do this. He could do this. They may have found someone else already, but something nibbling at the back of Shane’s mind told him in a voice which sounded like his mother’s: “ _This will change your life for the better,_ ” and he believed it.

* * *

“Mr. Shane! Mr. Shane!” The mentioned person turned around swiftly on his heel to face the little girl who tugged on his trouser leg. He smiled at her inquisitive eyes and head of dark, wavy hair. “Yes, Miss Lilian? Something you don’t quite understand?”

She scrunched her nose in that cute way of hers whenever she was addressed as “ _Miss_ ” and nodded quickly. “You keep telling us about those people in France who danced to death, but when are you going to teach us that instead?” she exclaimed like a burst dam, all in one breath; and Shane wondered where she kept it all. Her brother Mathias snapped up from his notebook abruptly and aimed in with a passioned “Exactly!”

Inwardly, Shane chuckled to himself at their adorable curiosity. Outwardly, he schooled his features into a statuesque impassiveness, only raising one brow as he brought the tips of his fingers together like a prayer. In his most deadpanned tone, he flung his hands wide apart and said, “We are studying mathematics currently. That’s history.”

“But this is boring!” shouted Lilian as Mathias gave a loud groan and brought his forehead down onto the pages. Shane could not help but let out a bark of laughter. “We are to study history tomorrow; today it is mathematics. And we agreed on that with pinky swears before, so you cannot go back on your word.”

Without lifting his head, Mathias gripped his pencil upright as an indicator that he as listening while Lilian sulkily flipped the pages of her own book as she sat down. For two children below the age of thirteen, they sure knew how to make their thoughts known. Shane rolled his eyes; he knew math was one of the worst subjects to study, but he had a duty as their tutor to teach them at least basic arithmetic. “If we finish this early, we can go to the gardens and look for plants to label,” he sang sweetly, but the children gave no reaction. Shane pressed his lips into a thin line and rested his hands on his hips.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “if we finish this chapter by supper, the Professor will teach you history tomorrow.” At this, the children leapt up with joy, chanting “The Professor! The Professor!” so loudly he had to shush them lest the maids wondered what the nuisance was all about. “Promise?” asked Mathias with so much hope weaved into his voice and dark eyes, that Shane did not care that his hand was going to cramp from all the puppeteering tomorrow. With a dash of mirth in his smile, he nodded. “Promise.”

* * *

The Bergara household had accepted him so seamlessly that Shane sometimes wondered if this was all a fever dream; and that when he woke up it would be to the freezing temperature of his old room and a house as silent as the grave. Lord Jacob Beragra and his wife Lady Anne Bergara were a wonderful pair; they tested Shane’s worth as a tutor when he first arrived with such tenacity that Shane’s head was spinning by the time they managed to run through their long list of questions. He had arrived with a valise of essentials and two suitcases worth of books, wearing his only good coat which had a mended hole on the right and was of a yellowed cream. There was the incessant worry that they may deem him too homely, too peasantry, too poor to teach their children. But his fears were unfounded, as their views were not coloured by such class distinctions; they were only interested in what he had to offer as his abilities as a good tutor. It had helped that their children, Lilian and Mathias, had taken to his funny way of teaching rather quickly; and Shane was made as official tutor of their household.

Controlling the Professor to tell the story about the Battle of Alesia with the aid of Mathias’ and Lilian’s dolls while Shane hid himself behind the flimsy curtain, he felt joy bubbling up into his chest. This was good, better than his previous days of working odd jobs around his village, scrambling for funds. A pang of pain shot through him when he remembered his parents, and Scott who he had not seen for a decade now, but it dissipated into the background when he heard the children’s unbridled laughter. _Yes, this is good._

* * *

He was enacting a scene from Hamlet with the children that day. It was Lilian’s turn to be Hamlet, and she handled his lines marvellously for someone so young, imbuing it with fear and longing suitable for the scene where Hamlet speaks with the ghost of his father.

Shane grinned to himself as he spoke his next lines from underneath the sheet the children had tossed haphazardly over him, “Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder!” he rasped like a dead old man.

Lilian’s gasp was worthy of the most talented actors on stage. “Murder?”

“Murder most foul, as in the best it is,” rasped Shane, waving his hands about and eliciting giggles from Mathias. “But this most foul, strange and unnatural.” He heard the door to the study creak open on its hinges, but paid it no mind. The maids usually sent in some snacks for the children at this hour to keep their bellies full.

What he did not expect was to hear both children give a shout of joy and hear the rapid pitter-pattering of their feet as they ran to the door. “Uncle Ryan!” they chorused, and Shane fumbled with the sheet as he pushed it off his head, only to see the children hugging the figure in the doorway. _Oh._ Shane’s throat was quite dry, he blamed it on the number of lines he had recited non-stop since morning; but really, _he was beautiful_. The man in the doorway; _Ryan_ , his mind supplied, was hugging the children and twirling them around, obviously overjoyed to see them too; and Shane could not help but stare at his bronzed skin, his lively eyes and his big smile which seemed to light up everything around him.

Ryan’s dark eyes flicked to his, narrowing for a fraction of a second in question before taking in the books and papers strewn across the room, and softened in realisation. Shane’s heart was stuttering so fast, he was worried if he would faint like an embarrassing maiden. He was sure the heat in his cheeks was not merely from being underneath the sheet. Ryan smirked and pointed at the white sheet still draped around his shoulders. “Didn’t think that a ghost would be haunting my niece and nephew.”

Shane’s mouth moved, but he was not aware of any sound trying to claw its way out until he heard his own stunned voice saying, “Ghosts aren’t real,” to which Ryan raised a challenged brow and widened his smirk. “You sure about that, big guy?”

* * *

Ryan Bergara had travelled across the country on some family business for a year, and had only recently returned, much to the joy of everyone in the household. Well, everyone except Shane perhaps, who was battling with a severe case of the heart jitters whenever Ryan walked into a room and flashed him one of those blindingly bright smiles.

Shane frowned into his pumpkin soup as he took another spoonful, willing himself not to look directly at Ryan’s animated gestures as he told tales of his adventures at the table, awing the children who pleaded with their parents to go to wherever it was. Shane took another spoonful of the orange liquid.

“Is it not to your tastes?” asked Anne worriedly, her button nose scrunching up like Lilian’s. “I can ask the cook to take it back and make you something more palatable.”

Shane felt a stab of guilt and shook his head quickly, shooting her a smile as genuine as he could make it. “No, no, it’s perfect. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” He could see the motherly doubt in her posture and scrambled to assure her, but it was interrupted by Ryan’s own voice of worry. “Maybe you should rest? You do have very heavy circles beneath your eyes.” Anne agreed immediately, giving the back of Shane’s hand a pat. “You work much too hard, Shane Madej, and while we’re grateful that the children are learning so much from you; you do need to rest.”

At the head of the table Jacob nodded sagely, wiping his mouth on an absurdly thick napkin. “Have a day off Madej, we’ll take the children out tomorrow.”

“Can we go to town?” asked Lilian excitedly, her brother mirroring the sentiment in his straightened back. Jacob laughed heartily and patted their heads as a father charmed would. “Of course, anything for my little darlings,” he indulged. “Ryan, will you come with us?”

In what must have been his own imagination, Shane thought Ryan shot him a look before answering. “No, I’m quite tired from my trip. I think I’d like to stay and recuperate.” The children whined for their uncle to accompany them; Anne sternly told them not to be selfish, and to finish all of their dinner if they wanted to go on the outing tomorrow.

Shane looked back at his conflicted reflection in his pumpkin soup, stomach churning. Maybe he could lock himself in the library tomorrow.

* * *

Of course it had had to be one of the hottest days of the year. Shane was sweating sheets of rain as he rifled through the shelves of books in the stuffy library, desperate to find one which could capture his attention and absorb him into its world squeezed between the lines of words; instead of losing control of his thoughts to a certain bright-eyed man. He had discarded his jacket with little ceremony upon the divan and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows from the sheer heat; had half a mind on giving up to prevent himself from melting into a puddle of human flesh when he heard a voice behind him and froze.

“I thought I’d find you here!” Ryan exclaimed, striding across the floor of the library easily, a smile in place. He eyed the jacket, the sleeves and the melting form of one very frustrated Shane Madej before bursting into a fit of laughter. “You look like you’re about to die!” he wheezed and Shane was disgusted with himself that he found it endearing.

“Some of us don’t do well in the heat, Master Bergara,” he replied, hands on his hips, well-aware that his armpits were sweat-stained and that he looked ridiculous. Maybe he wanted to hear that wheezing laughter again, who would know.

Still grinning at him, Ryan snarked a “Some of us are normal human beings,” back; and laughed at Shane’s narrowed gaze. Shane did not find any of it as funny as Ryan was making it out to be, but his laugh was admittedly infectious. Ryan stuck a hand out towards him, “And please don’t call me Master Bergara, it’s so formal it makes me want to regurgitate whatever is left in my stomach.” With another easy smile, and his voice lowered, “Call me Ryan.”

Shane grinned back at him and clasped his hand, his heart missing a beat at the contact. “Shane,” he replied, and gave their joined hands a firm shake. “Shane Madej.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Shane,” Ryan laughed brightly, adjusting his grip. A mischievousness settled behind his eyes. “Also, your hand is very sweaty right now, did you know that?”

Shane tsk-ed loudly and gripped the other’s hand even tighter, eliciting an exclaimed shout from Ryan as the latter tried to pull his hand away. “You get what you came for, little guy,” he sang faux sweetly, shaking their joined hands up and down to Ryan’s litany of “ _No, no no, get your hand off me right now, oh this is so disgusting_ ”. Shane laughed heartily, feeling the beating wings of something fluttering in his stomach before he let go.

Ryan immediately wiped his hand on his trouser leg. “I hate you,” he said darkly, but the mirth in his eyes gave it away.

“Of course, Ryan, of course,” taunted Shane with a bow, a dizzy headiness permeating his brain as he enjoyed the disgusted look on Ryan’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

Ryan’s bright laugh which sank into the pages of the books around them was so much more captivating than any story Shane read.

* * *

“So why don’t you believe in ghosts?”

“Why do you?”

“I asked first.”

“What are you, ten?”

Ryan shrugged, and Shane could see the outline of his broad shoulder lightly covered by his white shirt. “So, do you?”

The weather had not cooled in the slightest, even though they had tried to escape the oppressive heat by hiding in the shade of the apple trees in the garden. The sweet smell of phantom apples wafted with the heat off the ground, creating a cocoon which Shane would very much like to escape on account of the dizzying sensation in his head. Instead, he flopped his arms onto the grassy ground. “Why would you believe in something that isn’t there? There isn’t evidence that ghosts exist, Ryan.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong!” Ryan interjected smoothly, holding up a finger. “There have been many eyewitness reports that ghosts do haunt certain premises, and people have even interacted with them through spiritual mediums.”

Shane shook his head, feeling his sweaty hair clump to his forehead. “And you sincerely believe that that counts as evidence?” He pushed a hand into his hair in an effort to tame it. “Please, Ryan, you know that hardly counts.”

Ryan crossed his arms against his torso, brow scrunched and ready for a challenge. Shane tracked the movement with hungry eyes, hoping to whoever listened that Ryan was too riled up to notice. “Yes, I do. Having eyewitnesses is as good an evidence as any.”

“Alright, so please do enlighten me: if ghosts are real,” Shane pushed himself up a little more, leaning on the bark of the tree, “why have we not caught one?”

“Oh, catching ghosts is such an easy task to you, I see,” Ryan replied, mirroring Shane’s movement. He uncrossed his arms and began to gesture. “All I am trying to get at, is that ghosts are real; other people have seen them.”

“Have you seen them?” asked Shane with a raised brow.

Ryan floundered, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink which reminded Shane of dusky apples which he wanted to bite into. _What, no. Stop it, Madej._ He bit the inside of his cheek to focus on what Ryan was saying _._ “… but, I have experienced what I think is certainly a haunting presence, right in these grounds.”

Shane’s other brow shot up and he cleared his drying throat. “Like Hamlet’s father?” Here, he pushed for the drama in his voice, hand on his forehead and eyes wide with shock. “ _O prophetic soul!_ ”

Ryan wheezed so hard, he had to slap his thigh repeatedly to rid himself of the coiling tension. “No, not like Hamlet!”

“Then what?” screeched Shane in his most annoying register, “Are you to tell me that my father is not real? How dare you sir! You egg!”

“Do shut up, Hamlet,” Ryan wheezed, punching Shane’s arm lightly. “I’d very much prefer my obnoxious friend Shane back, if you don’t mind.”

There was a pause, and Shane seemed to have frozen again, his eyes cast downwards at the grass. Ryan cocked his head to meet his avoidant gaze, a thorn of worry embedding itself in his side. “Shane?” He gently placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “Shane, you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

At the touch, Shane’s glazed-over look receded some; and when he turned his head to peek up at Ryan, as if afraid something would break between them, asked in a voice which made Ryan’s own heart tremble, “Am I your friend?”

Ryan gulped, he felt suffocated. Who was it that had hurt Shane so badly, he wondered. Who was it that made him shrink at the mention of friendship. Whoever it was, Ryan decided that he would punch their lights out if he knew, regardless of gender. “Yes,” he smiled, gripping Shane’s shoulder tighter. “You’re my friend.”

The creeping and tentative smile Shane gave in return bowled Ryan over; it was vulnerable yet earnest. “Thank you,” his whisper was almost lost to the eaves of the tree, but Ryan caught it, and also himself for having inched inexplicably closer to Shane. “You’re my friend too.”

Some emotion had lodged itself behind Ryan’s chest, something heavy. He could feel his eyes welling up, and bit on his lower lip to stop it. How pathetic would it be, to cry over something he did not even quite know himself. He felt as if he were coming down with a fever. Briefly, he saw Shane’s gaze slip down to his bitten lip and hastily back up again, and _oh_.

“So,” Shane forced his voice out breezily, making an effort to tear his eyes away from Ryan’s lip. “I still stand by the fact that ghosts aren’t real. Unless you can prove it somehow.”

Ryan could feel the heat on his neck, stinging the shell of his ear. He deftly picked up the line tossed to him, somewhat grateful for the distraction yet disappointed. “I’ll show you, big guy. One of these days, mark my words, I will.”

* * *

They fell into a semblance of a rhythm; Ryan would stop by at the study and watch Shane teach the children, sometimes even participating in their reenactments and dramas. At first, Shane was nervous about him being there and evaluating his performance, but it all went out the window when Ryan mocked the Professor for not knowing why turkeys were once worshipped like gods. It led to a heated debate between a blue puppet and a very competitive Ryan, much to the children’s delight. They would all sup together every evening, just like the first night when Ryan came home, and Shane found himself increasingly drawn into the conversations around the table; his shyness having not reared its head any longer. Some days when the children were out running in the gardens, Shane met Ryan beneath the apple tree, and they sat there shooting the breeze, bantering like old friends.

Ryan made him laugh like no one else ever did, with his witty sense of humour and bluntly honest remarks; and Shane loved making him laugh in turn just to hear the wheezing laughter he had come to associate with the tightening metal inside his heart.

What he loved the most though, were the quiet mornings in the dining hall. Shane woke up early every morning to go through his lesson plans for the day, then ventured downstairs to grab breakfast, nose following the line of delicious smells all the way. He adored the cooking immensely; the Ilnyckyj brothers were geniuses when it came to food, he would give them that. The children never woke up from their nests when the sky was barely even alight, while the Lord and Lady took theirs together later in the day.

The dining hall with its tall arches and almost ceiling to floor gilded windows injected Shane with a sense of calm and rejuvenation, as contradictory as that may sound. Appreciating both architecture and the fare laid out on the long table, he selected a little of each and a steaming cup of coffee which always had a hint of chocolate in its flavour palette, and sat at what was now his place. He did not have to wait long before one of the heavy doors to the hall swung open, revealing a still tired Ryan who waved at him lethargically before slumping into the chair opposite his.

“Rough night?” Shane teased, winking at him over his coffee cup. Ryan sent him a scowl and grabbed his own breakfast from the lavish fare. Shane poured another cup of coffee, handed it to Ryan who took it gratefully, and took a blessed first sip which never failed to make him groan in relief (Shane would never admit the sight of it was incredibly sexy).

“Better than yours, I bet,” replied Ryan, still sipping his coffee and eyeing Shane’s impressive bed-head. “You look like you’ve birds in your hair.”

Shane gave an obsequious little bow which Ryan swatted at him for with a laugh. “Why, I’m flattered your majesty.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

Yes, it was these mornings where they were surrounded by a sea of silence, where it seemed as if there was no one else in the world but them, that he loved the most.

* * *

“I know you don’t believe in any of this, but it is very much an impossibility to break an apple into pieces with just your hand,” Ryan said pointedly, punctuated by an arched brow in Shane’s direction. There were apples appearing in the trees now; a sticky sweetness permeated the air. The little red and yellow blobs reflected sunlight, not quite ripe but tempting all the same.

“Maybe she was an extremely strong girl!” Shane rebutted. “There are a thousand possible reasons before it’s about ghosts and possession.”

“Shane,” Ryan started tiredly.

“Ryan,” Shane mimicked, earning the other’s ire.

Ryan sighed heavily into his hand. “Can you break an apple with just your hand?” The thought that Shane might be able to do it sent a thrill down his spine, not that he was telling anyone about it.

“Sure,” Shane agreed easily with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “I bet I could squeeze an apple till it exploded.”

Challenged, Ryan jumped up to pick an apple off the tree, but it was a tad too high up. He blushed furiously as Shane laughed at him from his spot on the ground. “Need some help little guy?” Ryan kicked at his long legs and Shane obligingly pushed himself up, wordlessly reaching into the branches to pluck an apple from them. Ryan was a bit envious at how easy Shane made it look thanks to his height. He was also a bit envious at how the edges of Shane’s eyes creased when he laughed wholeheartedly; it was endearing beyond belief.

Shane turned the apple over in his hands once, twice. “I mean, this was in Germany, where I think the apples are less” he paused, testing the turgidity of the apple “firm than ours.”

“Do you hear that in the distance?” Ryan mimed, a hand cupped to his ear. “It’s the excuse train coming into the station.”

Shane wheezed and put all his admittedly weak strength into bursting the apple, but nothing happened. Ryan began to laugh, and could not stop even when Shane resorted to using two hands. “She used only one hand, Shane. One hand!”

“She definitely used two hands,” he grunted, face red with exertion. The apple was unharmed still. Ryan stifled his laugh long enough to see Shane glare at the offensive apple with all the hate he could muster and throw it onto the grass, where it bounced once; and he broke into fits of laughter again.

Wiping at the tears in his eyes, Ryan calmed his stuttered breathing. _I think you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met_ , came barrelling into his mind, but he found it to be no less than true. He patted Shane’s arm as his shoulder was too high to reach, and felt warm when Shane grinned at him,showing his row of teeth. “Well, that was a bust,” he acquiesced, and Ryan had to take a moment to laugh again at the ridiculousness of the situation.

A footman came running over, and Ryan had to hold onto Shane’s arm to steady himself and to catch his breath back. He pretended not to notice Shane’s other hand coming to rest lightly above his own. They parted as the footman halted before them, and announced to Ryan that a guest by the name of Steven Lim had arrived.

“Really?” Ryan nearly shouted with mirth. Shane noted his happy expression, and denied his own ugly feelings that someone else could ever make Ryan look so excited. He was not going to be _that_ kind of person, thank you very much.

Yet, his tongue could not hold itself from blurting out with some hostility, “Who’s Steven Lim?”

Ryan shot him a dazzling smile, redness lingered in his face from laughing too hard. “A very good friend of mine.” He took hold of Shane’s arm again and pulled its owner forwards. “I think you’ll like him.”

* * *

He wanted very much _not_ to like Steven Lim, but Shane found the notion more and more impossible as time ticked by. Steven was a bubbly person; Shane had never met anyone as optimistic and innocent before, not even Ryan. In fact, Steven may be a bit too happy for his tastes, but that did not mean Shane disliked him. Quite the contrary, between Steven’s somewhat dry jokes and Ryan’s scathing wit, Shane found himself enjoying their company immensely.

Steven and Ryan had been friends for a long time now, ever since they were teenagers; and it was apparent from the way they spoke to each other that they had a strong bond. The Lims weret a prominent family in the east of the country, and were known especially for churning out talented individuals, whether it be from their own immediate family or from those employed in their household. Steven was here on a non-business related visit, which he admitted was something his parents did not take too kindly to.

“I do love them a lot, but they can be overbearing sometimes,” he confessed, wringing his fingers together on his knee.

Ryan sent him a sympathetic smile and smacked his back hard. “While they’re still here…” he trailed off, and Steven knew exactly what he meant. He shot a tight smile back. “I know, I know.”

It hit Shane belatedly that Ryan too had lost his parents. The estate was owned by his older brother. He felt bad that he had not thought about it before without knowing why; maybe he could have offered something to him. _What? Comfort? From you? You know you miss your parents badly too._ He huffed, sending a tuft of his unruly hair flying upwards and flopping back down again. _Oh, you’ve got it bad, Madej. Very bad._

Ryan nudged Steven in the ribs hard, and Steven gave a sharp shriek of protest. “You’ve been to see Andrew yet?” As if he were spontaneously combusting, Steven’s face erupted in splotches of red, and he slapped Ryan’s elbow away, sputtering like a boiling kettle. Ryan just laughed at the immediate reaction; leaving Shane to wonder what it could all be about. He was drumming his fingers on his teacup like a neurotic.

* * *

With Steven around, it was definitely livelier. They went on walks in the sprawling grounds whenever they could, sometimes with the children in tow. The children loved Steven, maybe even more than Ryan, as they crowded him and begged him to tell stories; which caused their uncle to pout in dejection. Shane thought it was very, very cute.

He had also seen one of the Ilnyckyj brothers around a lot more ever since Steven came around; the younger one, Andrew, with the constantly deadpanned look and monotonous voice. Shane remembers once when he had wandered into the kitchen by mistake one evening, and was greeted with those dead eyes which shone maliciously in the dark; it made him shudder to recall. If ghosts were real, and he still did not believe in their existence; he was sure Andrew would have made a right scary one.

These days though, the above person of interest was more often than not seen serving up steaming food straight to the table, something which had never happened before, even since Shane had lived in the household. One morning, he was surprised to find Steven at the table in the dining hall already, even though the sky retained its blanket of darkness outside. He was speaking to Andrew in low tones, the other hovering close to him; both their backs faced Shane. Shane was about to sneakily grab some food and dash back to his own room, when he heard a chiming laugh from Steven and spied Andrew giving him one of the softest and fondest looks he had ever seen.

Shane closed the heavy door silently, and decided to wait for Ryan outside; mulling all the while whether he himself gave away so much when Ryan was around.

* * *

Shane was a deep sleeper by nature, and he chalked it up to having lived in a noisy neighbourhood where one could hear the neighbours’ arguments smash in through the thin walls, in the close proximity of their little houses. However, something bugged him that night; an itchy feeling which pervaded all his senses. No matter how much he tossed and turned, his brain could not shut off; rather it started playing a slideshow meant for an audience of one. He saw his father toiling in the fields, felt the warmth of his mother’s hand on his head, saw his brother waving goodbye from the deck of the ship; and images upon images of Ryan, all taken from the mental snapshots in his head. Ryan smiling in the dappled sunlight; Ryan laughing that old man’s laugh of his till he couldn’t breathe because of something Shane said or did; Ryan trying to reach for the apple but failing, sulking and adorable; Ryan watching him during the children’s lessons, rapt with attention and hints of pride; Ryan shaking his hand, the start of something beautiful.

Shane tossed his blanket aside and pushed himself up. He slipped on his jacket and shoes, determined to take a walk and allow the cool night air to soothe his agitated state. Padding his way downstairs, he rounded the corners of the estate expertly, having lived there for quite a long while. He knew his way even though the candles were dimly lit, and the night dark and deep. Silence enveloped him; there was no sound of crickets or birds, just his shallow breath and the dull waves of fire on the wicks.

Someone sniffled, and Shane stopped abruptly in his tracks, straining his ears. He swivelled around slowly, trying to see into the darkness of the long hallway. _Ghosts aren’t real._ He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders and tiptoed to the end of the hallway, peeking his head out from the corner. There, sitting side by side on one of the stone walls below an archway, were Ryan and Steven. The sniffle came again, and this time Shane saw that it came from Steven, whose shoulders shook minutely. Ryan flung a comforting arm over them and spoke to Steven softly, patting his head with another hand. Steven nodded, but it didn’t seem like he would stop crying, as he hung his head and covered his face with his trembling hands. Ryan shushed him gently and rocked them both, his arms wrapped around Steven’s shoulders and his right cheek resting on the crown of Steven’s head.

Shane couldn’t catch anything they said, but something in the pit of his gut twisted painfully at the sight. He felt two burning lines down his back; it felt like the paper wings he had gained were torn off abruptly, leaving him to fall to his death without mercy. He willed his legs to back away from the corner, the intimate scene, the obvious message that _Ryan doesn’t love you, he never did, it was all in your head, it was a fantasy you entertained and nothing more, nothing more, nothing more_.

Heat pooled at the back of his eyes and a vicious pounding appeared at his temples, his limbs were slow and dumb. He felt drugged, and not in a good way. Tearing his eyes away from the pair, he looked down the hallway and caught his mirrored expression of horrifying realisation in the face of Andrew.

* * *

“Hey, are you avoiding me?”

Shane spun around to gather his teaching materials which were strewn across the table in the study. Yes, of course he had been avoiding Ryan, and he was doing a damned good job of it too. After that night about a week ago, he had avoided breakfast in the dining hall, preferring to go straight to the kitchen. (He met Andrew in the kitchens instead; and though no words were exchanged between them, they both knew. Andrew handed him bread, butter and jam wordlessly, and he took it with gratitude.) He had conducted his lessons all the same, and this time even though Ryan was there, he did not engage him in any sort of conversation; he focused on the children and pretended not to see the frowns and worried looks sent his way. He supped alone in his room, citing that he was feeling under the weather to Anne and Jacob; he bypassed the library even though he sorely needed some new reading material (he finished all those in his room within the first three days); and took the long way around to avoid the grounds which held the apple trees.

He thought the avoiding would’ve made it clear that he wished to be left alone; alas he should’ve known that Ryan would not be shy enough to not butt in straight to the heart of the matter as it were, without any tact in the slightest. His bluntness was astounding, and Shane could not help butadmire him for it.

“No, I’m not avoiding you,” he mumbled as he rearranged the stack of papers in his hands, flipping through them aimlessly.

“Then look at me, why don’t you?”

Shane shuffled his papers again, pretending to look over some mistake in the sentences when his vision was swimming before him. He felt Ryan’s sigh before he heard it.

“ _Shane_ ,” the other pleaded, and Shane would be the first to admit that he was not a strong man. With a soul-sucking exhale, he faced Ryan inch by inch; posture alert yet sheepish.

Ryan’s chest constricted. What did he do wrong for Shane to avoid him like this? Did he change his mind about their friendship? Did he not want to be seen with Ryan any more? Did Ryan annoy him too much with his ribbing?

“No! None of the above!” Ryan blinked in confusion at Shane’s outburst before realising that he had said it all aloud like some creep, and blushed to the roots of his hair. Well, at least Shane was facing him now. “Then,” his voice came out more strangled than he thought, “why?”

Shane wrung his fingers together, shoulders unconsciously hunched forwards. Hearing that broken note in Ryan’s voice made him want to envelope him in a tight hug and simultaneously punch himself for causing it. “It’s nothing, Ryan.” The lie burned white hot on his tongue, like a curse. “It’s nothing.”

Ryan wanted to argue, he could feel an irrational anger coursing through his veins, pooling right into his fingertips. He wanted to punch Shane in his stupidly pretty face, _Wow, that is not good, keep it together, Ryan_ ; instead he stretched his lips into a thin line and tamped down his impulses. “Okay, so you’re not avoiding me, and I’ve been imagining it all this whole time, is that it?” he bit out harshly, yet feeling a bit bad at Shane’s involuntary flinch. He sighed and massaged his temples. “Fine, you know what? Fine.” He turned on his heel, heading straight for the door; somewhere, anywhere, would be better than here.

Two steps before he reached it though, Shane’s low voice travelled through the empty space between them, “You’re my friend.”

“What?” Unable to resist, Ryan faced him; his hands were curled into fists at his side and eyes shimmering with an intensity that was new. Ryan gulped.

“I said, you’re my friend,” Shane restated resolutely. For a moment, his confidence visibly wavered, “Unless, you… don’t want to be?”

He couldn’t help himself, Ryan let out a bark of genuine laughter. This was as ridiculous as Shane claiming he could make an apple explode in one hand. Some of the palpable tension in the room was released with that; Shane relaxed a little, his fists uncurling as he chuckled to himself. He couldn’t stay mad at him, _damn it_. Ryan composed himself, clasping a hand over his mouth to hide his insanely large grin. Muffled, he said “Of course I’m your friend. Idiot.”

At that, Shane looked straight at him, eyes widened momentarily with shock; then melted into soft crescent moons which made the edges of them crease, just the way Ryan liked it. “You’re my friend,” he repeated, taking a step closer to Ryan.

The other nodded happily, lowering his hand and spreading his arms wide. “I’m your friend.”

“You’re my friend!” Shane exclaimed, closing the distance between them.

“Yes, I’m your friend.”

“You’re my friend!” he shouted louder, and Ryan had to hold up his own hands to shush him even though his cheeks hurt from grinning. “Whoa there, big guy, I get it!” What he did not expect was for Shane to wrap him up in a bone-crushing hug, his nose meeting a chest. He twisted his head and laughed, half from nervousness and half from sheer unadulterated joy fizzling throughout his whole body, he felt light-headed. He returned the hug, and it was the best hug he had ever received. Period.

They stood in that position a while, arms wrapped around each other and swaying slightly; enjoying the hug for all that it was worth. “You’re my friend too,” whispered Ryan softly who nuzzled his cheek a little against Shane, tickling the taller with his hair.

_I wish you could be more than my friend,_ was something that both parties could not find it in them to say.

* * *

“How did I let you convince me to be dragged into this? Would you mind refreshing my memory?”

“Shut up, Shane.”

Shane rolled his eyes at Ryan in the semi-darkness; his hand was growing tired from holding the candle aloft for the entirety of their journey.

Ryan cleared his throat in an attempt to diminish the trembling fear in his voice. “Is there anyone in here with us?” His eyes roamed the dark and vague ruins of the castle, searching for something that wasn’t there.

Shane scoffed internally at the notion of ghosts, especially ghosts who would appear just to scare people by pulling faces. But Ryan believed in them, and he had asked Shane to accompany him to the old castle not far from town, where it loomed like an accident waiting to happen with its deteriorating structure. Knowing how easily spooked Ryan was, Shane would be a horrible person if he allowed him to go alone, so here he was. With Ryan. Talking to air. But still, with Ryan.

“Hey ghouls,” he sang “come out and play!” His voice reverberated off the bricks of the walls and rang out hollowly into the deepest chambers.

Ryan shushed him and clapped a clammy hand over his mouth, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m inviting the ghosts, Ryan,” he mumbled through his hand, and pushed it away. His lips tingled from the brief contact, and he resisted to urge to touch them with his own fingers.

“You’re just agitating them,” Ryan accused, pointing the candle in his hand at Shane. The light wavered with the movement and cast moving shadows over the walls. Something dropped with a loud clang from further within the castle, and Ryan jumped with a small shriek. He instinctively moved closer to Shane, and this close, the taller man could see the hairs standing on the back of his neck. “What was that?”

Shane pursed his lips, fingers twitching from wanting to hold onto Ryan’s. “It’s just the wind,” he reassured in his most soothing voice, “something must have dropped. You know how it is with these old castles.”

“What wind? There isn’t even a solid breeze in here,” Ryan gulped frantically. At that exact moment, a shadow flitted across the walls ominously, causing Ryan to press against Shane’s side, his nostrils flaring with fear.

Shane hooked their arms together in a jovial manner, hoping to distract Ryan from whatever it was that he thought he saw. “Look Ryan, the mind is an unreliable thing. It perceives what is not there, and is blind to what is.” _Like you?_ the voice in his head snarked, sounding too much like his own.

“I don’t care about all that, I know for a fact that a spirit resides here Shane.” His arm tightened around his companion’s, the hand holding the candle was shaking. He turned to look up at Shane with disbelief in his face; it was easier than facing the unknown dark. “She killed her children and her sister in here, don’t you think it’s even a tad possible that vengeful spirits with unfinished business may be lurking around?”

Shane shook his head at that and arched his brow. “No Ryan, I do not think that a weird ghost child is going to charge at us with a ghost knife and potentially kill us with it. It would phase right through us.” Ryan scowled at him and nudged him in the ribs, hard; while Shane just laughed.

“I hate you,” said the shorter with much feeling, but the effect was ruined by the lifting of his lips into a grin.

“I know you do,” Shane replied immediately, reigning in the urge to do anything impulsive; like god forbid, planting a kiss on Ryan’s scrunched brow.

He could feel the tension leeching out from him. “But honestly, I hate this place even more,” he wheezed, tugging on Shane’s arm. “Let’s go back.” The taller man allowed himself to be dragged for a few steps before matching his stride to Ryan’s; their shoes clacked on the floors loudly.

A low rumble was heard even within the decrepit castle, and both men looked at each other with quizzical brows before the rain poured down in buckets. “Oh no,” groaned Ryan as he picked up his pace, dragging Shane along until they reached the front door. It opened to gusts of wind splattering rain into their faces; the water fell like white sheets onto the earth, obscuring the hills in the distance.

“Someone up there must have drank a lot water today!” shouted Shane to cut through the lashing gale. Ryan laughed wildly at his statement and ran a hand down his face to wipe the rain off of it. “You’re crazy, you know that? A complete lunatic,” but his voice was ecstatic all the same.

 _He’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful._ Shane grinned at him broadly; he felt a bit invincible, as if those paper wings had morphed into something more substantial, something more real.

Their arms were still linked, Ryan could feel the extra heat on his right, a comforting presence. A thought persisted in his brain though, and he itched to ask Shane about it; but he was stumped on how to bring it up. Shane tugged at his arm, thin brows wagging idiotically, then he shouted into the wind and rain, his voice drowned out by it. Taking his cue, Ryan did the same, emptying his lungs and his frustrations and worries all into the absorbing rain which in turn was buried into the wet earth.

Shane brought his lips close to Ryan’s ear, and the shorter man shivered, form what he suspected strongly was not from the cold which had seeped into his wet clothes. “It’s liberating, isn’t it?” The volume of his voice was just above his usual and below a shout; but Ryan felt it rattle in his bones all the same. Grabbing Shane’s collar to keep him in place, his lips brushing over the other’s ear ( _he felt him shiver, he knew it, it must have been…_ ), he replied with a “It is. Thank you.”

They stood there, two solitary figures together, letting the rain pelt right at them. After what seemed like hours, the rain began to slow in its descent, thinning out from a thick blanket to a thin summer linen. Ryan still wanted to ask Shane, so much so that he could burst from it, but the timing… He looked up at Shane from the corner of his eye, and _god, he was stunning_. Staring out into the vast space before them, eyes dreamy and a small curl of his lips, his arm tucked up against his own; Ryan wanted to bottle the moment forever in its entirety.

Shane’s eyes suddenly narrowed, his brows creased together, as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the weak rays of sun. “Is that…” he trailed off, still searching the area.

“Is that what?” Ryan scanned the surroundings in the general direction of Shane’s stare, but could see only worn village houses which formed a hamlet.

“There,” Shane pointed into the thin whiteness.

Ryan looked but to no avail. “Where?”

Shane crouched down to Ryan’s height, and Ryan playfully kicked his long legs, careful not to topple him over lest they both go rolling down the slope. Shane tsk-ed at him and sent him a disapproving look to which Ryan paid no mind. “There.” Ryan followed the direction of his bony finger with his own, until it alighted at _oh_.

Underneath the eaves of a half-fallen in house, possibly taking refuge, were Steven and Andrew. They were definitely kissing. Ryan turned to Shane who shared his surprised visage; wordlessly they looked again, just to reconfirm what they saw, just to make sure it wasn’t a shared illusion; and turned back to each other again.

Shane straightened up, his arm having fallen away from Ryan’s. Ryan missed it with a hunger so prominent, it scared him. “Well, that’s a rather interesting development,” Shane remarked, not knowing where to look; he didn’t wish to invade on Steven and Andrew’s privacy, but he didn’t want to look at Ryan in fear that the other could see the want in his eyes. He was not good at this, whatever it was.

“Are you against it?” Ryan’s voice was perfectly neutral, devoid of any emotion; a sharp contrast to his usual self. It made Shane look at him wholly, and Ryan braced himself for the answer which could either break his heart or pump it with hope. His teeth found his bottom lip, and he watched as Shane blatantly checked the movement this time. A lightness fluttered in his chest amid the dread.

Shane licked his lips which had dried from anticipation. “No, I’m not.” Ryan’s whole being deflated visibly, the tight coil of tension gone. “You know, I think,” here he paused, looking up into the grey sky, “love everyone,” he finished lamely.

Ryan gave him a smile so bright it chased the rain clouds away. “That’s a,” he huffed a laugh of relief, “that’s a good principle.”

“Why, thank you,” Shane bowed obsequiously, getting the rise out of Ryan which he aimed for. “I am honoured to have the Ryan Steven Bergara seal of approval.”

“You’re such a pain, Shane Alexander Madej. A pain.” Shane’s eyes crinkled and Ryan’s tongue loosened itself. “There isn’t anything going on between Steven and I.”

Shocked from the statement out of the blue which managed to soothe his lingering doubts, Shane stood stock still. Ryan, though he noticed, was becoming more adamant, and repeated his statement pressingly. Shane nodded dumbly, and Ryan’s eyes searched his face for any indication of what, Shane did not know.

At length, he wrangled an answer of “I didn’t think you were the polyamorous type either,” which made Ryan wheeze. The thought of him, Steven and Andrew together was hilarious to Ryan; but ambiguously possible in Shane’s mind. “Well big guy, you hit the nail on the head. I’m monogamous, thank you very much.”

Shane laughed lightly, looking at anywhere but Ryan. “Alright, so why bring it up?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think,” Ryan patted Shane’s shoulder on tiptoe. “You possess a giant frame, which sticks out particularly when you amble the hallways at night.”

His face was on fire, and the prickling sensation extended below his neck, lighting his back up with rashes of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It was a private moment, I shouldn’t have—”

“You didn’t know we were there,” Ryan cut him off with a hand on his arm, “and I’m grateful you kept schtum about it. But I want you to know that Steven was just airing out his grievances, and he needed a shoulder to cry on. Literally.”

“That was very generous of you then, Ryan. You’re a good friend.”

“Aww, thank you big guy.”

“But you don’t have to clear it up with me.” He was fiddling with a hole in his sleeve which he should have mended weeks ago, yet had not. “It doesn’t matter what other people think about you.”

“You’re not other people,” Ryan retorted easily, “you’re my friend. And as my best friend, I don’t need you having misguided conceptions about me,” he added the last part haughtily, earning a laugh from Shane.

“I’m your best friend?”

“Yes, you are. Is that an unacceptable notion to you Shane Madej?”

“No, it’s…” there were unshed tears glittering in his eyes, his heart was too full. “It’s an honour, Ryan Bergara. An honour.”

* * *

If anyone noticed how Steven and Andrew were closer than ever after their little trip into town, no one said a word. Ryan was genuinely happy for his friends whom he had watched dance around each other for years. It was high time that something gave out, and he was glad that all the pieces fell in the right way. He sneaked a look at Shane who was busy scribbling lesson plans in his fraying notebook at the dining table, his free hand curled around a cup of coffee; and smiled to himself. The dance had to stop sometime.

* * *

“Let us traipse around the maze at dusk, Shane. It would be a lovely little walk, Shane. We could catch some ghosts, Shane.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“ _Shut up, Shane_ ,” he mocked, earning him a swift kick to the back of his legs. “Ow!”

Ryan gave him a flick on the stomach for good measure. “You were the one who wanted to come along!”

“Correction: I was forced along,” Shane said, slipping into his ‘Professor’ voice. “If I left you alone in this maze, you would frighten yourself to death!”

“I would most certainly not!” Ryan hissed.

“You would most certainly will!” Shane hissed back.

An owl hooted loudly, jolting them out of their spat. Shane hoisted the lantern higher and held it against the looming green walls of the maze. The shadows danced across them. “Are you positive that it was a ghost?”

Ryan grumbled, “Absolutely,” and trudged forwards, his own lantern held straight ahead.

They made another corner which led to a dead end, and had to backtrack to the previous intersection; then went down the unpicked path. For a few moments, there was blissed silence. “How would you know what it looked like?”

Ryan groaned into his free hand. He knew Shane would be relentless in questioning him, tenacious in proving that his ideas of ghosts were unfounded; but it was starting to get on his nerves. “I’ve seen it, Shane.”

“You have?” Ryan could hear the raised brow and sarcasm. He could _hear_ it. “And what did this ghost look like then, Ryan?”

“My mother.”

Shane stopped, shoes scraping against the coarse dirt. His hand found purchase on Ryan’s shoulder ( _so much smaller than his own_ ), and spun him slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, “I never meant to bring up buried memories.”

Ryan shrugged, then deeming it too flippant from the look on the other’s face, gave the back of Shane’s hand a reassuring pat. “It’s alright. It was years ago.”

The faraway quality in Ryan’s voice snapped a protective streak in Shane, and he didn’t let go of that small shoulder. “My parents died too, around three years ago now. I am still not over mourning for them.” He needed Ryan to know. He wanted to banish his sadness, he wanted him to be happy. “I cried so hard at the funeral, I didn’t even know if anyone else was there,” he huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

Ryan looked even more distressed at that bit of information, and Shane wondered if it was the wrong thing to say. Before he could stutter out an apology, Ryan pulled him in by his hand and gave him a hug. Shane would’ve cried, if not for the fact that it may be alarming to Ryan. Instead, he returned the gesture, and they stood there against each other; not needing to say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said into his chest.

“It’s alright,” Shane replied, letting himself rest his cheek lightly against Ryan’s hair. “It was years ago.”

“Doesn’t make it any less painful,” Ryan replied, and Shane felt the moment it clicked in his head. The shorter man craned his neck to look up at him with narrowed eyes. “I see what you did there.”

“Good, eh?” Shane crowed playfully, releasing Ryan and wriggling his brows, which made him laugh wheezingly. “I’m a certified politician.”

Ryan opened his mouth with a retort cocked on his tongue, but cast his gaze towards the wall behind Shane. He held his lantern up higher to illuminate the section and gasped. “What?” Shane asked, turning around and doing the same. The hedge of this section was significantly lower than the previous sections, enough to climb over.

They shared a look of mutual understanding. “Hoist me up, big guy.” Shane set his lantern on the ground and crouched to allow Ryan to climb on his back. It took a few false starts and falls, but they eventually managed to push Ryan up onto the edge of the mossy hedge, where he sat catching his breath a while. Shane passed his lantern and made grabby hands at him. “Your turn, little guy.” Together they laboriously lifted Shane up onto the hedge, with Ryan pulling at his arms and Shane wildly scraping his feet against the edge to find purchase. Scrambling completed, they both breathed an awed “wow” at the view.

Although not very high up, the garden of the estate was transformed from their vantage point. Everything was shrouded in the veil of nebulous night, lending them an air of mystery. The trees swayed with intent, and what was left of the withering flowers seemed to glow ethereally. The cacophony of crickets crested and fell in intervals which only they knew; the owl hooted.

“Oh look at that!” exclaimed Ryan excitedly, pointing into the darkness.

“Where?”

“There!” He tugged Shane downwards, and matched his eye-line with his towards the dark pond. “It’s a turtle, look at that shiny shell.”

Shane hummed, impressed. “You’ve excellent eyesight,” he praised, much to Ryan’s delight. The latter preened a little, and Shane gave in to the impulse of ruffling his hair. Ryan attempted to push his hand away, and it started a game of pushing-without-killing-the-other-person.

Tiring themselves out, they slumped against each other, the hand not wedged holding on to edge of the hedge for balance. It was comfortable and a tad romantic, and neither actually wanted to move, despite their offhand insults thrown at each other.

“I saw a beautiful butterfly once. It was encased in glass, and had these gorgeous blue wings.” Sensing the melancholic undertone in his voice, Ryan kept quiet, but nodded to show he was listening. Shane pursed his lips and continued, “It was right after my parents’ funeral, the one I couldn’t stop crying at, you know?”

Picking up the thread, Ryan batted a “Have you been to many funerals?” back, which caused Shane to chuckle.

“Very fair point there, Master Bergara. Very fair.”

“Call me that again and I’ll push you off this hedge,” Ryan threatened darkly.

Shane took it as a grain of salt and sniffed into the air. “How uncouth! All you can think about is murdering me. Is it an obsession of yours?”

_You are my obsession. I’m obsessed with you_. But Ryan kept those thoughts under wraps, as he had done for a long time now. “I’m not going to murder you,” he said empathetically, which was true., then pretended to mull it over a while. “Seriously injure you, maybe.”

“You sir, are a fiend! An absolute fiend!”

“Yes, yes,” Ryan waved the remarks away. “Is this train of thought going somewhere or?”

Shane stuck his tongue out childishly. “As I was saying, it was the most beautiful butterfly I had ever seen.” Here, his tone turned solemn. “I thought too, that how great it must be, to be cherished that way. What I mean is, that even in the face of death, against rot and decay, the memory of this butterfly was preserved, and it could last forever.” Worried that it was too abstract of a rambling, he asked timidly “Was that alright? Did you understand it?”

“But at my back I always hear, Time’s winged chariot drawing near,” recited Ryan dutifully, and relished in Shane’s surprise.

“I didn’t know you read Marvell.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Touché.” Shane cocked his head, conjuring up the phantom form of the poem in his mind’s eye. “It is a weirdly sexual poem, now that I truly think about it.”

It may have been the lack of light, but Ryan’s cheeks seemed to glow red. He cleared his throat. “He was a pervert.”

“He was,” Shane laughed. It amazed him how blunt Ryan could be with these things; he loved it.

_I love you._

It was a feeling that had taken root in him long ago. Even without paying it much attention, it had grown into a splendid bloom, tickling the inside of his chest. With Ryan, his newly formed wings felt more solid than paper.

* * *

“You’re going?”

“In five days.”

“Why?”

“Business in the south. My brother can’t possibly go, so it’s up to me.”

“When will you be back?”

“…”

“…When…?”

“… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I—… I wish you all the best in your voyage.”

“Wait! Come with me.”

“Come with you?”

“Yes, come with me.”

“I have responsibilities here. The children are here.”

“Do you want to stay here? Forever?”

“… If they would let me, yes. I hadn’t had a place to belong to. Ever.”

“Not even with—…”

“Not even with? With what?”

“Never mind, it isn’t important.”

“And you? Do you want to go?”

“I don’t wish to not want to travel the world; but I don’t want to go either.”

“Why not? The world is your oyster; and you have nothing tying you down here. Fear not, for I shall make sure everyone eats their greens.”

“You truly are a jester, aren’t you?”

“Pardon you sir, but a very valiant jester. Better a jester than a mourner.”

“… I do have something tying me down.”

“You do? Well, do tell me what it is, and this valiant jester shall have it done for you!”

“Not even you can accomplish it, trust me.”

“Nonsense! But pray tell dear sir, what is it? I promise to help in any way I can.”

“It’s you.”

“… What? I don’t understand…”

“It’s always been you.”

Shane couldn’t feel his feet. All he could feel was a gaping hole which had opened suddenly on the floor of the dining hall, and it sucked him downwards into a fall with no bottom. “You… what?” He rasped, hands gripping the wooden armrests of the chair so tightly, he was sure he could break them.

Ryan’s eyes were bright and pleading, a tinge of desperation coloured his voice. The words were lodged in his throat, such simple words, but life-changing. Impactful. _Scary_. He had come this far, and if he was too cowardly to take this step, everything he wanted to fight for would be for naught. “I love you.” He sliced a hand through the air, then aborted it midway and slammed it down onto the table again, shaking his head. He looked straight at Shane. “I love you.”

With a scrape of the chair sounding out against the high walls like a finality, Shane left.

* * *

He spent the next three days perfecting his avoidance routine. He kept to the study and the library, took his meals in the kitchen. Andrew always shot him quizzical looks, but Shane was not willing to divulge anything; though from the pitying look on his face, it was more than possible that either he had heard something that day or that Steven did. No matter. Nothing mattered.

He continued his lessons with the children as usual, but they were extremely sensitive to his mood; and kept asking him if anything was wrong. They were also very adamant on having everyone spend Uncle Ryan’s last day before his journey together, and had planned a lavish little party on pieces of yellowed parchment with crude drawings and plenty of labels. Shane felt sick to his stomach.

Lying in his bed at night, sleep escaped him. He replayed every fragile memory he had of Ryan, turning them over gently in his hand and encasing them in glass, desperate to preserve every single one.

_I love you._

He had said it so matter-of-factly, so sincerely; the words burnt a brand into his heart, and how it ached. But how could they be together? Ryan came from money, he had social responsibilities, he was going to marry a fantastic wife, have children, be happy. Who was Shane to get in the way of all that? He was a nobody, looking for a place to belong, a commoner with a love for books and a certain witty, bright young man. He clapped his hands over his ears. He was someone who wanted to be loved, but he was also someone who was scared of being hurt from loving too much.

His paper wings were seared once before already; he doesn’t think that even these new ones could withstand the heat of the sun.

* * *

“Thank you,” he mumbled around a piece of dry toast as Andrew handed him a mug of coffee. Day four. _Only one more day to go, then you can cry all you want._ He swallowed the coffee and the torn toast without registering its taste. Andrew clicked his tongue at him in disapproval and topped up the coffee, much to Shane’s gratitude.

The cook returned to the vegetables laid out like jewels on the board, peeling them deftly. “It’s not my place to say, but you look like you’ve been run over by a carriage.” He cut off a carrot top with a loud thwack. “Twice.”

“Thank you for the astute observation,” Shane grumbled, stuffing another piece of toast in his mouth. He chewed angrily.

Andrew didn’t even turn to face him, just went on with peeling the vegetables. He was on to the potatoes now. “At least you have the choice to go.”

He slammed the cup onto the table filled with ingredients for lunch and glared at the cook. “You don’t know anything. Don’t you dare assume that you do.”

Dead eyes flashed him an unimpressed look, but remained impassive. “Some of us are still bound, Madej.” He tossed a peeled potato into a faded pink basket. “But you,” he pointed at him with a thumb thrown over his shoulder, “you’re a bird who doesn’t realise it’s not in a cage anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Shane growled out. His emotions were running high on all levels. What the hell did Andrew know anyway. He was just a cook.

The other hummed serenely. “I thought you’re a tutor. You should be able to figure out that much. But yes, what do I know. After all,” he threw another potato into the basket, “I’m just a cook.”

* * *

The hallways were always too dimly lit. Even with the moon almost full and bright, there was very little light, perhaps owing to how the arches were built to curl inwards. _Focus, Shane. Focus._ He took another look at the door before him, heavy oak, barred with metal linings. The urge to hurl into the nearest corner was strong. He paced the hallway up and down, his long strides covering the area easily. He stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath, stretched out his hand towards the knocker; then put his hand back down, exhaled and went back to pacing.

What could he even say? That he was sorry he ran away? That he wanted to remain friends with him even though it hurt to restrain every little show of affection? That he loved him too, but they couldn’t do this, they couldn’t, they couldn’t?

_I love you. If you’ll have me still, let me go with you. I don’t want to be where you’re not. I love you._

“Are you attempting to pace a hole into the floor?”

Shane, being an honest man at heart, would admit that he screamed like a banshee and flailed all his awkward limbs everywhere; hitting Ryan squarely in the face.

“What was that for?!” “Why aren’t you in your room?!”

They held their positions: Ryan rubbing the tender spot on his nose, Shane with his arms in the air; and stared dumbly at each other. After a few tense moments, they broke into a fit of giggles. Shane was about to apologise when he met Ryan’s eyes, and a switch flicked in them; dissolving them into laughter once again. Ryan wheezed so hard, he had to brace a hand on the nearest wall while Shane crouched on the ground, helpless against the inexplicable onslaught.

When they had both calmed down enough not to start another round of maniacal laughter, Ryan leaned his back against the wall. “I went for a late night snack.”

“You snack often?” Shane asked amicably, feeling some of their old banter seep back.

“Only when I’m stressed.”

_Oh, that’s not good._

A palpable silence descended on them; Shane couldn’t bring himself to look Ryan in the eye. He wrung his fingers together, then ran them through his hair, pulling on it in frustration. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded tiny and afraid.

Ryan worked his jaw. “For what?”

“Accidentally hitting you in the face.” He swallowed his fear and looked up at Ryan, a weird angle since he was used to being the one who towered over him. “And for running away.”

Ryan crossed his arms and uncrossed them again, looking into the distance, fists curled into the soft flesh of his palms. He heaved a long-suffering sigh which shot a dose of guilt straight into Shane’s heart. At length, he rolled his eyes (at who, Shane did not know; neither did Ryan himself), “Do you want to come in and talk about it?”

“Yes, please,” Shane stood up hastily, on the point of overbalancing, but he caught himself on Ryan’s outstretched hand. “Oh, thank you.”

“It’s alright.” He hoped that the shadows would hide his burning face and the hurt in his eyes.

Shane followed Ryan carefully, his alarm bells on high alert even after they crossed the threshold and the door closed behind them. _Especially_ when the door closed behind them. Casting his gaze about, he noted that all of Ryan’s things had been packed neatly into suitcases and the room looked quite barren. Ryan followed his stare. “I’m leaving tomorrow evening,” he announced, as if neither of them had completely processed the news.

“I know,” Shane whispered to the room at large. “I know.”

A terse silence. Ryan began tapping his foot against the floor, the steady rhythm increased in velocity. “Well,” he began in a rough voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Well, it has been very nice meeting you, Shane Madej.”

Shane stared at the hand that Ryan had stuck out for a handshake, so reminiscent of their first official meeting in the library, and the walls holding his dam of emotions broke. With pained eyes, he surged forward to wrap Ryan in a crushing hug, the latter startled. Ryan placed his hands against Shane’s chest to push him away, but he was immobile. _This isn’t fair_ rang Ryan’s thoughts. Fate had to stop giving him false flashes of hope this way, didn’t she know that there was only so much he could take? “Shane,” Ryan warned, pushing at him; but Shane didn’t respond verbally, only tightened his arms around Ryan’s torso. “ _Shane_ ,” he growled.

“I’m sorry,” Shane sobbed, shoulders heaving. “I’m sorry.”

If it was possible for Ryan’s heart to take any more abuse, he would have kept pushing. But his heart was weak when it came to Shane, that was a fact that he had chosen to accept; he wrapped his own arms around Shane, a hand rubbing circles into his back and shushed him softly. “It’s alright, big guy. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” came Shane’s watery voice. He gave Ryan one last squeeze, as if he would disappear with his suitcases if he didn’t, and pulled back to face him properly. “I’m scared, Ryan,” he admitted, hands curling on Ryan’s shoulders. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt. And there are so many ways that we could.”

Ryan’s disbelief was painted clearly on his face. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not a good person,” Shane said into Ryan’s eyes. “You’re amazing, did you know that? You’re so… you’re so kind, and funny and generous; you need someone worthy of you.”

“What do you mean you’re not worthy of me?” Ryan screeched, punching Shane in the stomach and causing him to double over in pain. Half of him was worried about that punch, he didn’t control his strength well; but the other half was so incensed with Shane’s stupidity that it ties his tongue into knots, rendering coherent sentences as an impossibility.

Shane coughed, still clutching his stomach. “I deserved that,” he rasped.

“You did,” Ryan spat, face red with anger, fists tight at his sides. “How could you be so stupid? Were you dropped as a babe?”

“As a matter of fact, my brother pushed me down a flight of stairs once.”

An involuntary smile crawled across his lips. “Shut up, Shane.”

The other cocked a brow and placed his hands on his hips, pitching forward slightly due to the pain. “And what would you do about it, Ryan?”

“This,” he grabbed Shane’s face in his hands to trap him there, and pressed a quick kiss to his dry lips. Shane was shell-shocked, but instinctively placed his hands on Ryan’s to keep him close. Ryan smiled sheepishly, cheeks burning. “You don’t like it?”

Shane blinked slowly, tracing the shape of Ryan’s perfect lips. They were plump and soft, _oh god they were soft_ ; and without wasting another second, he pushed his own against them in a loud smack. It was Ryan’s turn to be shocked, his eyes comically wide.

“I love you,” he said softly but resolutely into the space between them; their own little cocoon.

Ryan gave him the brightest smile he had ever seen; and although Shane felt the heat of it on his paper wings, they didn’t burn. “I love you too,” came the reply, and Shane’s heart soared. He pressed a kiss to Ryan’s forehead, then moved to both his eyelids and his nose in quick succession, earning high-pitched laughs and gentle caresses on his own cheeks. Ryan captured his lips with his own, deepening the kiss, and Shane reciprocated with all his heart. He pushed every drop of emotion into it, hoping that it could convey what could not be put into the light form of words.

When they broke apart with chests heaving for air, Shane was hit with a familiar voice which said: “ _This will change your life for the better.”_

He believed it.

* * *

The ground they descended on squelched beneath their boots, and Ryan made a disgusted sound. It was supposed to be snowing, but instead of the white winter wonderland they had envisioned, the ground was muddy with melted snow.

“This ruins London for me,” Ryan said with much feeling, grabbing their valises from the coachman and peeling off a wad of sticky bills.

Shane took a deep breath of the putrid London air which was made mainly of smog and coughed. “It certainly has character.”

Ryan laughed at him as the coach drew away, splattering mud everywhere. He cursed at the coachman for staining the legs of his trousers, and Shane laughed heartily at him, which earned him a kick in the shins since Ryan’s hands were still full. “Carry your own stuff,” Ryan grumbled and threw Shane’s valise at him, which the latter caught firmly after some fumbling.

While Ryan was surveying the tattered map he carried with him on all his journeys, Shane felt a swell of emotion rise up from the tips of his toes and right into his head. He expressed it by bowing a little to press a kiss against Ryan’s lips, which the other returned naturally. “I love you,” he said into Ryan’s smile, the phrase coming easily to him now, ringing loud and true. “I love you too, big guy.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 
> 
> May whip up a Standrew side of the story; do comment if it's a yes!


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